Ouch!
by StrawberryBubble
Summary: All the scenes Reid could have gotten hurt, but really didn't. Until now. (All one-shots, episodes in no particular order.) First up: 3x14- Damaged- Being trapped and alone with a homicidal inmate never makes for an easy day.
1. Damaged

**A/N: I really don't even know what the point of creating this is other than to make my favorite character suffer, which, come on, we all love. And I'm bored. And have writer's block. Whatever. I've embarrassed myself with my other stories, I figured why not further it by showing how sadistic I am. I promise I'm a good person somewhere inside. Probably. **

**I've got a few scenes already written out/in mind, but if YOU have an episode/scene you would have liked something to happen to Reid and it didn't, I shall take/write out your request! **

_3x14_

_'Damaged'_

There were always going to be times in the field where an agent was going to be afraid. It's always been a dangerous line of work. But 99 times out of 100, that agent has a way to defend themselves, to have a fighting chance; a weapon, a bulletproof vest, and the likes.

This was, quite unfortunately,_ not_ one of those times.

Reid's hands, grabbing onto his messenger bag as if it were his lifeline, were actually trembling as he retreated from the growing tension between Hotch and the death-row inmate Chester. After realizing what the inmate planned to do, he had mostly tuned out what they were saying to each other—only knew that someone was going to be killed if he didn't do something, do something _fast,_ and that, if he wasn't careful, someone was going to kill _him._

Hotch threw down his tie with his jacket, loosening his collar, prepared to defend them after the threats they'd come under. Chester had begun to circle, like a predator and its prey, when Hotch recognized what he was planning to do, calling Reid's name out two seconds before Chester lunged towards the younger, grabbing him and forcing him in front as a shield, his arm wrapped tightly around Reid's throat. Hotch took a threatening step forward, scowling, and Chester clicked his tongue. "Not so tough now, are you? God, he's a toothpick. I could snap him in half."

"Let him go, or you won't need to be executed next week."

"Oh, I don't plan to be. Not if I kill you two, right here. Now."

Hotch tensed, his fists clenched. Reid wheezed and reached up to scratch at the inmate's arm, uselessly, and then, able to think of nothing else he could do, managed to hoarsely force out, "Chester, do you wanna know why you killed those women?"

Immediately, the inmate's posture relaxed a bit, though his grip did not. "What?"

Reid hardly had enough air left in his lungs to continue, but he pushed through. He had to. "I-I can tell you...why you killed them. Why you are...what you are."

Chester was interested; there was no hiding it. But he tried anyway, of course. "Or I could just kill _you_."

It was all Reid could to do stay conscious, and even that was terribly difficult, draining strength he already didn't have. "Th-then you wouldn't know. Earlier you..." he desperately fought to get even a fraction of a breath, "you said you wish...you had...been different..."

Chester set his jaw, thinking. Reid's eyes had begun to roll back before Chester finally dropped him, and he collapsed in a heap, coughing, heaving, gagging, hands clutching at his aching neck. Chester saw Hotch take a step towards them, and he got in front of Reid, claiming him for the time being. "Get up," the inmate ordered, and instantly, albeit so very weakly, Reid got to his feet, placing a hand out to the wall in order to keep his balance. "Go on."

And so Reid did go on, and on, and on, only pausing to breathe for several moments when he felt himself getting lightheaded again. Chester had gone back to the table between the two agents, resting his hands upon it, caught up in Reid's words, and Reid was sure time was against them before finally, finally, the door buzzed open and three guards came in, looking a bit panicked like they'd only just realized their mistake.

"Everything alright in here?" one asked, and Hotch turned to them. "Yes. We're done." He waited until Reid slid away from the man and the guards had gone to restrain Chester again before he stepped out the door.

"Was that really true?" Chester began as Reid hurried past them. "I never had a chance?"

"I dunno, maybe," Reid said absentmindedly, because hell if he hadn't been simply saying anything that came to his head, rushing out to meet Hotch in the hall, retrieve their guns, and get outside. Once there, he took a deep breath, trying to ground himself, but he wobbled a bit anyway, blinking hard. He needed to sit down, _now,_ he had to—

Hotch placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from doing anything. "Are you alright?"

"No," Reid said, very honestly, and then fainted.

He opened his eyes a while later in the passenger seat of their vehicle, sort of slumped against the window. He straightened himself up after a moment of collecting his thoughts and rubbed his neck. He didn't think it would bruise, but it would certainly be sore for a few days.

"Feeling better?"

"A little."

"That was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself long enough for the guards to come back."

"I find that I do some of my best work under intense terror," Reid replied; and intense terror it certainly was.

"I'm sorry."

Reid frowned and glanced over at him. "For what?

"I antagonized the situation."

"No, you didn't."

"Well, I certainly didn't help."

Reid tilted his head and shrugged a bit. "I-I guess you really didn't help."

Hotch took a deep breath, which Reid unknowingly mirrored. "Either way, it may be best that the rest of the team doesn't know about this."

Reid nodded in agreement. "An ultimately uneventful trip," he said, and Hotch gave him a half sympathetic gaze and nodded.

Uneventful indeed.


	2. Rabid

_9x18_

_'Rabid'_

If he'd been able to get a clear shot, Reid would have put a bullet in this David Cunningham from the very beginning. But with Morgan struggling with him—he had no chance, even though his aim had improved immensely over the years. He winced at Morgan screaming as the taser hit him again, and then followed them as they stumbled into another room and tumbled over a table. Cunningham used the weapon once again and then shoved Morgan away, causing him to fall back and hit a cabinet, the shelves falling on top of him. Reid grunted in frustration and holstered his gun, tackling the criminal before he could do anything else.

Morgan raised his head, watching through bleary vision as Reid grabbed Cunningham by his collar, an impressive scene despite his small stature—and then the larger man stuck the taser up underneath the agent's chin. Reid shrieked and writhed, his arms flailing to shove the weapon away, and then immediately went down as the man dealt out a final blow to the side of his head.

At last recovered enough to move properly, thinking of nothing else he could do, Morgan grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy keyboard—and smashed it against Cunningham's head while he was down and distracted. He fell onto his stomach with a grunt, and Morgan stepped roughly onto his back when he moved, grabbing Reid's fallen gun and pointing it at the criminal. "Don't even," he growled. He got to his knees and, despite the agony in his abdomen trying to render his limbs useless, cuffed the man's hands behind his back before placing his own on Reid's back to rouse him. "Kid," he huffed out, shaking the younger's shoulder. Reid groaned; his eyes fluttered briefly, his face contorting briefly in pain before going slack again. A line of blood slowly, sickeningly, trickled down from the wound on his forehead.

"I need a medic!" Morgan hollered, wincing, trying to focus on Reid instead of his own injuries. "You're gonna be okay, kid," he murmured when Reid made a sound that was almost a whimper. "Don't worry."

The youngest agent came back to himself while the medics were tending to him back in an ambulance outside. Morgan, who was sitting on the step, not very keen to move until the pain relievers kicked in, heard one of the men mention this, and he turned around, smiling at Reid, who blinked at him a few times before regaining his bearings and weakly smiling back.

"Nice tackle, kid."

"Thanks. I've been working out a little bit," Reid replied quietly. Oh god, he then thought, the exam.

The medic stepped back, admired his handiwork with the bandaging, and then said, "You're gonna be just fine," as if he'd been worried Reid was wondering.

Which, no, he hadn't really been, because at least, if he were to be hospitalized, he could have spared himself the heart attack he was most definitely going to get tomorrow.

He actually had to bite his tongue to make certain he didn't ask if the medic was sure.


	3. LDSK

**A/N: Hurrah, an update! I don't quite know if it counts as a rewrite considering I barely changed anything, but oh well. I'll make it better (eh, worse?) next time. I just sort of wanted to make sure no one thought I was ditching this :D BTDUBS, song at the end of this episode, Tears and Rain by James Blunt, is just amazing and beautiful. Had to point that out, in case anyone forgot about it. It's got to be one of my very favorite songs :) Without further ado, ENJOY! More to come soon!**

**PS. I don't even remember how new Reid was to the team at this point, so for the sake of me not looking like an idiot, in this story he just joined like maybe a few weeks before this. I'm exhausted from life and can't think straight. Cut me some slack, huh? ;P**

* * *

><p><strong><em>1x06<em>**

**_L.D.S.K._**

Reid had decided, indefinitely, that Hotch did _not _see him as being as smart as he really was. If he had, he would have realized that Reid knew within moments what the plan was to take down Phillip Dowd, especially with all the hostages being moved out of Reid's probably shooting line. It would have been a good precautionary measure to take even if Reid had always been a perfect shot—the blow Dowd had delivered to his temple was making his vision tilt in ways that were certainly not good, not to mention the fact that he felt seconds away from being embarrassingly sick all over his boss's shoes beside him, worsening each and every time he swallowed._ Concussion, probably_, he thought. Hopefully that would be the least of the injuries any of them had after this was over.

Blinking hard, he listened to Hotch talk with Dowd, which eventually ended with Dowd believing Hotch wanted to help him, whether he knew it or not. As if Hotch would ever...Although, he was very, very convincing, to the point where if Reid hadn't known exactly what was going down, he might have questioned his boss. And he had, at first, when Hotch had taunted him into silence and then mocked him openly...it had hurt almost as much as his head did.

"You know why they took away boy genius' gun?" Hotch started up again now, and Reid looked over at him.

Dowd took the bait, and Reid shied away from them, his eyes watering again. "Why?"

"He failed his qualification. Twice a year I gotta listen to him whine about requalifying. So I tutor him, and he fails again."

"You think _you _got it rough?" Dowd scoffed. "These people have done nothing but undermine me since I got here."

"Put him next to the barricade." Hotch said, and Reid flinched. "That way when they blast their way in here both of our problems are solved. That sort of thing could ruin a cop's career."

Dowd stared him down, something like amusement on his features. "You are one sick dude."

"How do you think I found you?" Hotch countered, and Dowd grinned. There was a long pause, in which the hostages could be heard whimpering, and then Hotch said, "Can I ask you a favor?"

"You can ask," Dowd replied.

"I figure the chances of my getting out of here alive are pretty slim."

"So?"

"I wanna kick the snot out of this kid," Hotch said, and Reid raised his head again. _That _was the plan? "He's made my life miserable for three lousy years."

Reid looked from Dowd to Hotch and then back again, his fear probably noticeable, and probably the thing that made Dowd grin and say, "Knock yourself out."

And then Reid yelped as Hotchner roughly shoved him to the ground and sent his boot into the younger agent's stomach; once, twice, again and again. "How smart are you now, smart guy?" Hotch growled angrily, and Reid gasped for breath, agonized. "It's front sight, trigger press, follow through! It's not that hard! A Dalmatian can do it!" He kicked Reid a last time, and then Reid struggled through the pain and his restraints to grab onto the man's extra gun, making it as subtle as possible...or so he thought. "Let go—let go!" Hotch shouted, shaking Reid off, and the younger moaned, curling into himself, panting, and then threw up.

Dowd's lip curled up in disgust, and then he looked at Hotch as he stood a few feet away, breathing heavily. "Feel better?"

"I think he got the message," Hotch said quietly, nodding, and then Dowd smirked, watching Reid writhe and cry on the ground for a moment before his gaze landed on Hotch's left pant leg, which had been folded up a bit in Reid's rush to get the gun, revealing the holster, something neither noticed until now.

Immediately, Dowd stopped smiling. "What's that?"

Hotch felt his breath catch in his throat, glancing down, and then when he looked back up, Dowd was facing the gun towards him, and then suddenly Reid was sitting up, Hotchner's gun pointed directly at the killer, and he shot, hitting Dowd in the dead center of his forehead.

"We go now!" someone shouted from the distance as hostages began screaming, and Hotch yelled, "Federal agent! Federal agent, hold your fire!" as he rushed over to the door and opened it. "It's clear."

Reid was silently sobbing, on his side again with the gun on the ground, when Hotch returned to him while the most of the others tended to the hostages and began to get them out of there, and another few went to Dowd to assure he was dead and that the danger was really eliminated.

"Reid? Reid, are you okay?" Hotch knelt down next to the youngest, and immediately Gideon and the others were beside him, and Gideon cut his restraints, then Reid's, and the kid wrapped his arms around himself the instant they were free.

"What happened?"

"Oh, god, is he shot?"

"Is he okay?"

"I'm fine!" Reid managed to cough out, but it wasn't even a little believable. JJ reached down and stroked the hair out of his face while Morgan shouted for a medic, and that was the last thing he remembered for a little while until he opened his eyes in the back of a parked ambulance, the back doors of which was open, and when he managed to raise his head, he saw Hotchner was sitting with his back turned to the other.

Hotch must have heard him breathe differently, or maybe the stretcher made a noise, because without turning around, the older said, "That was a nice shot."

Reid licked his lips and replied, humorously, "I was aiming for his leg."

Hotch stood up and looked back at him, scratching the back of his head and leaning against the side of the vehicle. "I...I wouldn't have kept kicking but I was afraid you didn't get my plans."

"I got your plan the minute you moved the hostages out of my line of fire," Reid replied with a little smile, and Hotch awkwardly looked down. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry. The medics said I bruised one of your ribs, but...other than that..."

This time, Reid chuckled. "Hotch, I was a twelve-year-old prodigy in a Las Vegas public high school...I've had a lot worse."

"Yeah..." Hotch murmured, still sounding horridly guilty, and then he handed Reid the gun he had used, which Reid looked at in confusion.

"Keep it," the older man said, and everything that Reid had heard about him having little emotions seemed ridiculous now. "As far as I'm concerned, you passed your qualification."

Reid smiled at him as he left, supposing that yes, this whole FBI thing was going to work out quite nicely after all.


End file.
